


To Be Anywhere (But Here)

by blakkatNwillow5



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, It Gets Worse, Mental Health Issues, No Plot/Plotless, Not A Fix-It, OMG so much angst, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Parallel Universes, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Self Insert Weekend, Third Gym (Haikyuu!!), Undecided Relationship(s), haikyuu is ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakkatNwillow5/pseuds/blakkatNwillow5
Summary: For a moment's breath, when she wished upon that star,"I wish to be happy."She thought she heard someone answer her."It only lasts a moment, but I will grant your wish."And then everything was white.
Kudos: 9





	1. Make a Wish (Any Wish)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this isn't my first story, but it is the first one I'm publishing on AO3. Check out my Wattpad account and my books at  
> [ SleepingWillow2204 ](https://www.wattpad.com/user/SleepingWillow2204)  
> Haikyuu ended today, and honestly, I am not ready to say goodbye. I imagine a lot of other fans would be like this too. Anyway, without further ado, let's start!

I hated the world that I lived in. It was a harsh place filled with the hubris of every living creature, and it pressed down on my throat until I could barely breathe. They told me to have pride of my own - to be glad about things that I did right and anger about things that I did wrong. What was right and wrong? Lines of ink in a pattern created a letter, letters in an order created a word, words strung together to form the cruellest or kindest meaning that was nothing more than human interpretation and the complication of simple things. The way of nature was balance, but everything about humans tipped the scales and destroyed the calm. The morality of the world did not align with my principles, and I would forever pay for it as the social pariah, the outcast, the weirdo. The person you talked about but never to.

Maybe I was someone who was broken. Maybe I was what people called a girl who was going through teenage angst. Perhaps I wasn't human.

No. I was human. I was as hypocritical as every last man and woman who walked the same ground and breathed the same air as I did. I judged others for their pride and used my being as a baseline for value - like every other human. I believed that I was unique and that my parents weren't lying when they told me I was special. But out of the seven billion people who resided on the same planet as I did, I was no different from the person who stood next to me or the one 12, 742 kilometres away.

At the same time, I wasn't. I wasn't in tune with what everyone called emotions. I did once, but not anymore. That was a long time ago when joy was being picked up on Dad's shoulders, and sadness was having to sleep at bedtime. What was the phrase? _'Psychopaths are born, and sociopaths are made.'_

What a fantastic family I had where my mother was a sick woman and my father was dead. But not quite. My father breathed, his heart beat, and his mind functioned. By definition, he was very much alive - just not to me. He was an absentee man who sent a cheque every month. I didn't keep photos of him around, and so, I forgot his face. (And his arms when he hugged me before sending me off to school, and the crinkle by his eyes when he smiled, and the kiss of his lips on my forehead before bedtime.) And my mother. My dear mother, who once sang lullabies and cradled me to sleep and hushed my nightmares with a tune turned grey. They say that mental illness was hereditary, and sometimes, I am inclined to believe them. I watched as she collapsed with the burden of depression, bipolar and PTSD. Her chains only got worse, shackles rubbing her wrists and ankles raw until they bled red. (And those chains used to wrap around my neck when she saw someone who wasn't the girl she named Etsuko). Schizophrenia was added to the list not long after, and she was kept in the place they called asylum.

I thought, _'What an ironic name for a prison.'_

And then, I smiled and pretended that everything was alright. It wasn't, of course, because my mother was a sick woman and my father dead man, but I was what they made me. I was just as broken as them.

They shouldn't have let me known that they regretted me. The chance arrived, and I stole my mother out of her prison, and I told my father to come home. And under the stars, I let a match spark with the gas turned on, smiling as my mother sat broken in her straitjacket and my father screamed and strained under the duct tape. All the residents who stayed in the same apartment building burned to death because someone had melted all the locks of the stairwell doors. The flames devoured three hundred people while I sat on the roof; the concrete was warm underneath my thighs.

It was all very romantic - to be embraced by the gentle orange fire that licked my back and stole away everything that had ever hurt me.

Something blitzed across the sky, and for a moment, I paused and wished upon a shooting star.

It answered.


	2. It's a Dream (No, it's not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concrete became cold, and the fire disappeared. Etsuko smiles, but unlike her namesake, she is not a happy child. 
> 
> She thinks.
> 
> 'We are nothing more than the dust in cracks of houses.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! so, Etsuko is "my" name in this book. It means happy child and obviously, something went really wrong because let's get things straight. No happy child burns down an entire apartment complex along with themselves. But for sentimental value, I thought, why not?

Tokyo was always cold on a scale of bone-chilling to a cool breeze. It wasn't the temperatures. It was the freezing gazes of the people who glanced over you as if you were worth nothing more than the dust hidden in cracks of their houses - useless but too resilient to get rid of. They weren't wrong; I'd say they were right. No one meant anything to anyone before the first impression, the physical and emotional attachment, and all the memories catalogued under a name. The actions, habits and reactions of someone were categorised as a personality and brought into being with the breath they breathed. But in the end, before you met that person, they were nothing to you. They'd die, and you'd say "What a pity." and forget it ever happened the next day. Humans were worthless beings to me (every single one of them). Life was born to die, and everyone was nothing more than a phase for the world. They came and went and were forgotten like the dust hidden in cracks of houses.

I had closed my eyes to fire that burned me beyond human understanding, and everything after that just felt _cold_. The concrete under my skin chafed my thighs, but it didn't hurt the same way the flames did. There was a momentary pause when my brain short-circuited because that couldn't have been a dream. Disbelief was the inability or refusal to accept that something is true or real. But what was real anyway? I was numb as my legs moved, tracing steps from the ledge of the roof to apartment number 528. (Down five flights of stairs, turn left through the doorway, seventeen steps, a right, the fifteenth door). 

It was the same. ~~(But it wasn't)~~. The walls were still stained and grubby, the green paint barely visible under marks of soil and dirt that humans had left, purposeful or not. ~~(The smell of gasoline wasn't there, and neither were the pots of dead plants my mother once kept)~~. The door was several shades darker than the walls; the number 528 was still faded in the same places. ~~(But the scratches and bloodstains dear mother had left behind when she had one of her more... violent episodes weren't there)~~. My body was still moving on autopilot, and I was okay with it, watching the way it operated on familiarity from the back of my mind. It was better this way, being a spectator in my own life was easier than actively making decisions and actively making mistakes. My hand pulled the keyring out of my pocket, slotting the largest key into the lock and twisting. The entire process was mechanical - even with clinical professionalism to a certain extent - it was less like coming home and more like entering a building because it was routine.

But the moment I stepped through the door, something had kicked my from the back of my head into the front seat. My brain cracked open with memories of a fifteen-year-old girl who was _~~(but she wasn't)~~ _me. I dropped my keys, and my knees buckled to the ground, and a giggle may have escaped from the back of my throat, but that was lost under the white noise of me trying to absorb and comprehend the two lives of Hoshino Etsuko _~~(Me)~~. _Thirty years had folded upon itself in my head, stuffing parallel universes and knowledge into the same body split myself in two. There was me before - the one who had burned everything that had hurt her when she burned her world - and there was me now - the one who had no parents and grew up in an orphanage. Perhaps using the words 'before' and 'now' wasn't that fitting. I was still me, just different. 

The Etsuko I had become was never happy at all.

There were tears in my eyes. I wasn't sad or terrified. There was nothing to be afraid of - not when death was the only outcome of everything. Those tears were nothing more than a bodily reaction to the pain of being overwhelmed with fifteen more years of information of a life never lived ~~ _(I lived)_~~. I stood on shaky legs, my vision swimming. The first wave was gone: shock. The second wave was confusion. It was the brief pause when I saw the universe of things that weren't there; things like my dear mother's straitjacket in place of white bedsheets and a glimpse of orange fire that raged and consumed and freed instead of blank walls. It was like seeing double but not.

~~(There were no extra tanks of gasoline and oil that I kept in the corners of the house. There were no empty pots from when my mother's plants died after she was sent away, and I was left to take care of them. I didn't, of course. Instead, there were letters about rent, school fees and bills. There was a guest room that had a layer of dust on every surface. And there was more food than canned and provisional goods).~~

This Etsuko still went to Nekoma High, and she was ahead of her year into the second year Class 3. Except for this time, her desk partner wasn't a nameless, faceless person, but someone named Kozume Kenma. That name stuck in her head, linking to a boy with bleached hair and bad roots, video games and the volleyball club. He was smart and partnered with her for group projects because they were the most convenient person and knew how to appreciate silence without it being awkward. According to the rest of the class, that was a skill. In this Nekoma, having an extra-curricular was compulsory, and that Etsuko, not knowing anyone or having any interest in anything, just tagged along with Kenma and signed up as the manager of the volleyball club.

I wondered why I hadn't joined a club that would require less effort of me, but it was too late for that. The uniform for girls in Nekoma consisted of a light top and matching sailor collar, a bow at the neck and a dark skirt. The Etsuko before me had never looked less than appropriate, but I wasn't the same as before. There was no point in putting in more effort to appear the same as I usually did to the people who knew this Etsuko when I was different. I'd only end up suffocating myself and struggling to cope with the character traits I had forced myself to be. So, I went to school without tying the bow around my neck. (Part of me said that bows were a safety hazard anyway, and another said that I was lazy).

The blazer was something I had taken to wearing. Tokyo was cold with or without it, but at least the material provided some form of protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, this is a self-insert but with the author's mindset being "everything that can go wrong will go wrong". (Murphy's law). In other words, some of my background is in this, just exaggerated to the point that I could create this much backstory for this book. Have you read the tags? It says angst.


	3. Etsuko was My Name (It Still is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etsuko had put in the effort for things I didn't understand, but we shared the same spirit of excellence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm introducing the Nekoma team in this round and their team dynamic. Hopefully, Etsuko doesn't seem too much like Shimizu because of her quietness.

Despite my delve into apathy, I had never lost touch with my principles. Not to say that I was a morally upright citizen, but I had never tried less than my best to get the things that I wanted. (What an unassuming way of saying that I knew how to get away with murder after all that planning). Being meticulous was a characteristic we both shared, and excellence was one of those too. At the same time, with all our similarities, we also had differences. Etsuko was in tune with her emotions, and she understood feelings, and her _heart_ was continually undergoing fluctuations as a response to her environment. I, on the other hand, had lost that ability a long time ago. I understood 'feelings' as neurotransmitters in the brain; serotonin and endorphins for happiness, oxytocin for love, dopamine for desire, norepinephrine for controlling stress, etc. But I didn't _feel._

But now... now, I was a mish-mash of the two of us, feeling and unfeeling and completely confused by everything that was me.

My wish that night was to be happy.

And then, I woke up here. I wasn't a fool (maybe I was for believing that this was happening). I knew that there were probably higher powers at work because I remembered the woman who once held me to her chest even as I remembered cleaning my scratches after my first fall in an empty house. I had the memories of two lives of mine, and no matter how mentally unstable I was, I knew that was not normal. There may have been divine intervention, but I refused to believe in something I couldn't prove. (What god called themselves merciful but let my dear mother die?). If that was the case, I probably had to put in some effort for what I wished for, the same way I was going to strive to continue Etsuko's life my way.

I arrived at the gym at seven sharp, not surprised to see that Kuroo, the captain of the club, had already unlocked the doors.

"Good morning," I called (because it was something both of us would've done) while slipping my shoes off. 

The older boy was running through stretches, and he looked up with a reply that never came.

"...You're not wearing your bow." I could hear the sleep lingering in his voice.

"I'm not."

He stared for a little while longer before huffing and resuming his stretches. I tilted my head, staring at him. Was it that strange that I wasn't wearing the bow? Yes, since for the past year that I've been in Nekoma, I haven't been known as anything less than the quiet girl who excelled in everything she did. But what was really bothering me, was that I only half-recognised Kuroo. The Etsuko who burned had never heard the name Kuroo Testurou or Kozume Kenma before... everything. They just hadn't existed.

I continued walking to the benches by the side where Etsuko ~~(I)~~ had always left our bags, letting mine thud on the wooden ground. Still barefoot, my body continued moving—going through muscle memory—towards where Kuroo was. His legs were stretched out in front of him in a V shape, and he looked as stiff as a rock. I raised a foot, aligning it with his spine and pushed. It was gradual, and I felt his body tense before he exhaled and let himself move down.

Etsuko had done this for Kuroo every morning ever since he had asked. I didn't know why I was still doing it. Maybe it was because my body was used to what my mind was not, and if Kuroo had asked _me_ , I wouldn't have minded. But every time I went back to that space in my head to relive the things that Etsuko had gone through ~~(not me; never me)~~ , I wondered how she ~~(I)~~ could be so _kind_. 

"Ow." Came a voice that knocked me out of my inner musings, and I let up on the weight on Kuroo's back. I moved away, and he flopped onto his back.

"That didn't hurt."

"Not everyone is as flexible as our dear manager." Kuroo grinned, his eyes smiling with cheek in his tone. I didn't scoff ~~(she did)~~.

"Plenty of people can do the splits, and that doesn't change the fact that pain is a weak excuse to stop pushing yourself."

"No, but it was a good enough excuse to knock you out of whatever downhill train of thought you were riding." I raised a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. "You always get this really distant look like you want to kill someone when you think about how much the world sucks and when you become self-deprecating."

My eyes widened with surprise before I could control myself.

(̸̛͖̉̉̄̆̓͐͜N̵̦̻̑͐͂̂̃̅o̵̟̐̚̕͠͠,̶̡̺͙̑̀͆ͅ ̷̖̭̗̇́͋͆͐͝ţ̶̖̘̫̲̜͍͛ẖ̶͙͕̾̍̒͌͝͝ā̷̛̰̝̙̥̳͆̃͠t̴͍͎̯̱̐̋͘͝ ̵̝̫̇́͛̄w̴͚̪͖̫̳͑͝ȃ̷̟̗͔̬͍̬͜͝ş̸̜͚̙̼̻̒̌ ̶̢̘̼͑̇̕̚m̴͕͔̣̬͔̥̮͊͠ĕ̶͍̐̃͒)̴͕̣̭͕̘̹̤̈́̕̚.̸̞̻̪̂͝

That was me? It wasn't, but it was. My name was Etsuko, and so was hers. She is me, and I am her. I was not in control of my body—

(̸̰͕̱̤̫̭̮͆͒̆͌̕T̶̮̍̄͛h̸̙͙͉̫͔͑́i̵̢̠̮̙̗̮̎s̶̠̣̭̳̮̞̿ͅ ̶̩̈́́̍͒̒ĭ̵͔̻͈̚̕s̴̡͈̫̟̏̐̓̚ ̵̨͕̘͕̝̩̳͌̄̈́̚m̷͚̹̳̬̤̔͝ỳ̷̧̖͔̓̾̈́̇̀ ̶̧̺̪̝̍͋b̸̮̹̟̩̺̈́̐͘͜͠ȏ̶̧͛̋̾̽͠ḋ̸̲̻̝͕͕̀͗y̵̨̛̞͇͓͖̜̞͑̒̉͘)̴̪̫̼̈̋̑͐.̶̪͖̖̞̹̈́̎̔̈́̕

This was no longer my body; it never was. It wasn't that surprising—Etsuko had to have had gone somewhere. She was still in her body, and I had never taken her place. It was more like I had awakened in her, and she decided to let me take the steering wheel while she fiddled with the gear stick of the car we called a body. The whole experience had been surreal so far, so what was one more piece of information? Nothing noteworthy. But then again, I seemed to be taking everything in stride because that was just how I was.

(̷̱̩̹̪͛͂̈́̽̾̓̈́̃̌W̸̛̛̲̱̫͙̃͒́̀͐̀͂̔̂́̚e̶̩̫̭̱̣̪͈͍̹͎̗̗͛̎̃̔̎͑̽̐̃̈́̃͐̆)̵͚̰̘̝̙͓̠͌̾͛̒̂̆̍̈́͑̋͠͝.̴̡̨̭͎̗̹̖̣̖̿͋͌͋̎͐̿̈̊͑͑̌͠

"You're doing it again," Kuroo hummed, sitting up and turning his back on me.

"We were." My voice came out soft and unplanned, and Kuroo had a breath of hesitation before he asked.

"We?"

Etsuko was quiet, and so was I, not providing Kuroo with an explanation. We had no doubt that Kuroo was reeling from the change in pronoun, but he would be to weirded out by the frankness of the situation to talk to anyone about it. Still, I wondered how long it would take for him to break and question us.

(̶͇̞̖̘̘̈͌͛Ḧ̶̭͇̜́m̵̡̲̬̪̪͇̓,̸̡̛̝̙̤͑͑̀̃̌ ̷̠͍̤̅͒̃͠͠͝ḩ̵̱͚̱̭̐͗͋̈́͘͝ǒ̷̖̠͠ͅw̸̡̜̟͛̏̔͘ ̶̪̩̌̍̿͝l̸̨̛̲͒͆̎o̶͖̔̈́n̶̛̤͍͕̟̱̦͐̈́g̸̪̼̐ ̵̥̟̻̯͍̘̾̈́͑i̶̡̛͍̩͈̪͂͋͊͘n̷̨͍̯̺̣̥̏͋͐̓̀ͅḑ̴͉̲͕͂̊̔̌̾ȇ̷̡̪͕͈̮̹͂͋̔ȩ̶̨̰̳͊̎͑͒̚d̶̘̘͉̓̃̐̈́̔̅̚͜ͅ)̵̠̮̐̈̀̚.̸͎̋͛̈́̐

I was saved from replying by the gym door sliding open, the ones named Yaku and Lev arguing while entering. It wasn't so much of an argument than Yaku telling Lev off about how "his receives sucked, and he was going to be run into the ground during practice that morning." I greeted them the same way I did Kuroo, my voice carrying over the otherwise silent gym. 

_(̷̱̩̹̪͛͂̈́̽̾̓̈́̃̌W̸̛̛̲̱̫͙̃͒́̀͐̀͂̔̂́̚e̶̩̫̭̱̣̪͈͍̹͎̗̗͛̎̃̔̎͑̽̐̃̈́̃͐̆)̵͚̰̘̝̙͓̠͌̾͛̒̂̆̍̈́͑̋͠͝.̴̡̨̭͎̗̹̖̣̖̿͋͌͋̎͐̿̈̊͑͑̌͠_

I ignored her voice, mulling over my schedule for the day as the rest of the team arrived, and they started on drills.

_**(̸͔̞͇͈̤̌͑̋̒̐́̔͐̉̂̕͝O̷̙̺͍͓̼̐̐̈́̾̂̔ų̸͍̫̲̩̼͈͕̖̤͚̥̬̎̐̽̀r̴̝̩̫̯͎͙̼͌̆̾͘)̴̧̖̀͋̉̈́.̵̛̛̫̌̅̐̅̎̒̕** _

_'Shut up, Etsuko, some of us are trying to think.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The human capacity for kindness and cruelty is astounding. Here, I take it quite literally. Oh, and this is still a self-insert fic. Let me know what you thought!  
> Oh, and in case anyone isn't sure what the glitch text says:  
> (No, that was me).  
> (This is my body).  
> (We).  
> (Hm, how long indeed).  
> (We).  
> (Our).
> 
> To avoid confusion, let me explain. Etsuko is my character's name. She has been yeeted into a parallel universe. She is a sociopath who burned down her apartment complex and killed her parents. Let's name her Etsuko #1. Now, in the parallel universe, an Etsuko existed. This is Etsuko #2. She is an orphan, not a sociopath, but ironically, still not happy. Etsuko #2 has no plans to kill anyone. So, essentially what has happened is that Etsuko #1 is in the body of Etsuko #2. They share the same mindspace. Etsuko #1 is the main person in control of the body, but Etusko #2 can still interfere. 
> 
> For the pronouns, dear reader, prepare to be confused. When unspecified, Etsuko refers to both of them. Etsuko will use we/our instead of I/me. Now for the confusing part, Etsuko #1 is our narrator so, her inner thoughts are I/me/my. Etsuko #1 refers to Etsuko #2 as she/her or you/your if Etsuko #1 is addressing her directly. Etsuko #2 uses glitch text when she "speaks" in their head. 
> 
> If you're not sure who is in control, feel free to drop a comment, and I will try and clear things up.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an SI/OC fic. Unlike the rest of my books on Wattpad, I think I will be using first-person POV throughout this book. Yes, my character is insane, I know. Let me know what you think!


End file.
